Twenty-five years ago, the events of September 11, 2001 changed thousands of families forever – and changed our collective sense of the world around us.
Nearly 3,000 people died that day. Countless others lost parents, children, siblings, spouses, friends and colleagues. First responders, survivors, and communities carried experiences that would remain with them long after the immediate crisis ended.
But the grief of September 11 also extended beyond those who experienced a personal loss.
People across the country and around the world watched, mourned, and tried to make sense of what had happened. Alongside grief for the people who died came other losses: a sense of safety, certainty, and an understanding of the world as it had existed before that morning.
That is part of what we mean when we talk about collective grief.
What is collective grief?
“Collective grief is the experience that can occur when a collective group of people experiences the death of one or multiple people and/or secondary losses such as the loss of safety, community, or items,” explains Kiri Meyer, Senior National Clinical Manager at Experience Camps.
Collective grief can follow tragedies, natural disasters, acts of violence, and other experiences of loss that affect an entire community. We don’t necessarily need to have a direct personal connection to an event to experience emotions surrounding it.
September 11 illustrates how layered that grief can be.
There was profound grief for the people who died and for the families whose lives changed instantly. But there was also grief for something less tangible. As Meyer describes it, many people experienced “the flash of realization that the world as we knew it had shifted forever.”
And collective grief isn’t only about what is lost; it can also be found in what happens next.
After September 11, first responders, neighbors, communities, and people around the world showed up for one another. People gathered, helped, shared messages of solidarity, and created rituals and memories that continue decades later. Those responses become part of the collective story, too.
“Collective grief are the fibers that get woven into the story of a community or world event that help to share the human experience within it,” Meyer says.
We can grieve together without grieving the same way
A collective experience does not create a collective response.
Amy O’Neill, Clinical Manager at Experience Camps, offers a helpful way to think about it: “Think of collective grief as the ocean, and personal grief is a wave. We may all be experiencing the same ocean, but each person’s wave looks different.”
For some people, the 25th anniversary of September 11 may bring sadness, memories, anger, or fear. Someone who lost a loved one that day may experience the anniversary very differently from someone who remembers watching the events unfold as a child. Someone born after 2001 may connect with the anniversary through family stories, school lessons, or the experiences of their community.
And some people may not feel particularly affected by the anniversary at all.
All of those experiences can coexist.
There is no requirement to feel a certain amount of sadness or to participate in grief in a particular way, simply because others around us are grieving.
At the same time, collective grief can sometimes make our own personal waves bigger.
When collective grief brings personal grief to the surface
Significant anniversaries and widely shared moments of remembrance can reactivate our own experiences of loss, even when those losses are unrelated to the event being remembered.
You may find yourself thinking about someone you’ve lost. You may feel unexpectedly emotional, distracted, or exhausted. Grief might show up as tears or anger, but it can also appear physically as restlessness or heaviness, or mentally as difficulty concentrating and a sense of fog.
Meyer describes this as re-grief: a natural process our bodies, brains, and hearts may experience around meaningful moments, dates, or other periods of grief.
It doesn’t mean you’re moving backward. Grief isn’t a straight line, and an anniversary doesn’t have to belong to your loss to bring your grief closer to the surface.
Sometimes seeing other people remember reminds us of the people we remember, too.
Making space for collective grief
There is no single correct way to mark an anniversary like September 11, just as there is no single correct way to grieve.
For some, connection may be helpful. Being with people who understand what you’re experiencing can make grief feel less isolating.
Others may find meaning in ritual and remembrance – Attending a memorial, lighting a candle, telling stories, creating art, listening to music, or simply taking a quiet moment to remember.
It is equally okay to take a break. On significant anniversaries, reminders can feel nearly impossible to avoid. Stepping away from the news, social media, conversations, or memorial activities when they become overwhelming is not a failure of care.
Routines can help, too. Familiar activities and moments of normalcy can provide stability when difficult emotions make the world feel less steady.
Most importantly, we can make room for different reactions – in ourselves and in one another.
Some people talk. Some cry. Some become angry. Some want to help. Some laugh. Some feel numb. Some may feel very little at all.
Grief does not require everyone to respond in the same way.
Remembering, together
Twenty-five years later, September 11 remains part of our collective story.
We remember the people who died. We recognize the families, survivors, first responders, and communities whose lives were forever changed. We honor the helpers who stepped forward and the countless ways people cared for one another in the days, months, and years that followed.
And we can acknowledge that grief continues to move through communities and individuals differently.
At Experience Camps, we see every day that grief is deeply personal, but it does not have to be experienced alone.
Perhaps that is one of the most important things collective grief can teach us.
We can share an ocean without experiencing the same waves. We can give one another space to remember differently. And when the waves become bigger, we can continue to show up for one another.
